


Kings and Queens of Hearts that Break

by NightCourt_HighLady



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:59:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25403488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightCourt_HighLady/pseuds/NightCourt_HighLady
Summary: Rhysand is dead, having given the last of his powers and life force in restoring the Cauldron and his world.Mor wants to know if this is the better she supposedly deserves.Cassian has failed everyone today: his troops, Nesta, Feyre, Rhys... and Aella - the mother he always wanted.Azriel knew what his High Lord and Lady have been through. Is this truly their fate?Tarquin didn't want to admit that the male and female who stole from him were his friends. But they were - more than he ever thought.Tamlin's revenge is complete. Or is it? Can he truly deny the woman he loves one last thing?Amren, once worshipped as one of the humans' ancient gods, is finally fading after eons of life.Rhys could hear his mate's screaming. But she was alive. And he felt like maybe he had some absolution for everything he'd done.
Relationships: Feyre Archeron/Rhysand
Comments: 5
Kudos: 36





	Kings and Queens of Hearts that Break

**Author's Note:**

> Just finished reading ACOWAR and this fell onto the page super quickly. This is VERY angsty. There's some allusions to being suicidal, and a few allusions to the "Amarantha's whore" business - in case that stresses anyone out.
> 
> Quick note about Tamlin - I don't believe Tamlin is evil, just... he can't admit to his part in what happened with Feyre. He doesn't realize or understand that he's the one in the wrong. He's been hurt, wrecked even. He hates them because he loved Feyre so deeply. I'm NOT defending his actions. They were VERY VERY wrong. He's got anger/temper issues as well as control issues. I hope I communicated that decently.

Mor

She knew before her High Lady. Felt the truth her cousin hid. But it was still too late. She’d barely taken a step forward before her cousin’s hand fell from his mate’s back, and he simply collapsed.

His eyes were open, a small smile on his face. 

_ I never told him I never told him I can’t believe I never told him.  _

Her inner voice drowned out Feyre’s screaming. Feyre’s broken shriek, which would have told her the truth itself if she hadn’t already known. 

She still remembered the first time she’d ever truly seen her cousin.

_ They were both still young, both barely twenty. The same age as her High Lady was now. Every glittering ember of what made her  _ Morrigan _ was locked inside her, hiding. Hiding from the monster she called Father and her uncaring mother. Hiding from the countless relatives who saw her as nothing but a resource. As nothing but a breeding mare.  _

_ Rhysand was with his father, the despicable creature. Blagden only brought his son down here, rarely his mate or daughter. She suspected that was her aunt’s doing. Today, Blagden was meeting with her father, leaving the two to their own devices. By this point, she was bored.  _

_ Rhysand seemed to be a study in contrasts. She’d assumed he was like his father, given that they talked the same way. But her gift was truth, and she knew in her gut that was wrong. But not why. He only talked about inane things, leaving her to puzzle out her cousin on her own until… _

_ Something dark and fathomless stood at the entrance to her mind. A dark clawed hand knocked at the door. She quirked up a brow at her cousin, he mimicked the movement. In a moment of true recklessness, she cracked her shield slightly. _

Hello, cousin. _ His mental voice was similar to his normal one, yet warmer. He didn’t bother to hide the familial affection he felt for her. She had no idea her cousin had come to care for her over the years as she had him. _

Hello,  _ she replied into his mind. His eyes widened minutely, then his lips quirked ever so slightly in a smile. It was only a fraction of a second, but it was enough for her to give him another piece of herself.  _

I’m surprised his High Lordship didn’t drag you to whatever meeting he’s having with my horrid Father.

_ The presence in her mind laughed warmly.  _ It seems as though this was a bit more private. He said I wasn’t to come with him, but was instead to entertain you.  _ Her eyebrows went up. He continued.  _ Possibly because the last time I was involved in a conversation about your future I started a fight with Father. _ This endeared him to her more than anything he’d said previously, even though the thought of Blagden and Kier in there talking about her future was unbearable. _

Thank you, _ she told him, mind to mind.  _

You deserve better, _ he told her. She saw the uncompromising will in his eyes.  _

Five centuries later, she stared at her cousin’s body cooling on that battlefield. 

_ Is this what you meant by “better,” Rhys?  _

Cassian

Everything was quiet.

He couldn’t hear Feyre’s screams anymore, the world went silent. 

He’d failed.

He’d failed on every level he could have failed.

How many thousands lay dead on this battlefield? Could he have made other decisions? Could he have saved some of these lives?

How could he have saved Nesta’s father?

What could he have done for Rhys?

Rhys.

His best friend, his brother, his commander, his  _ High Lord. _

Gone, just like that. 

He still remembered what happened fifty years ago. When he felt some mysterious power fall to him, when his High Lord, gone on a  _ routine diplomatic mission _ , was taken.

He remembers seeing through Rhys’s mind, seeing the wine, feeling his powers be ripped away and something solidify in his chest.

He remembers the words that echoed in his mind. And Amren’s. And Mor’s. And Azriel’s.

_ Stay in Velaris. The Wards are linked to you now. If you leave, Velaris falls.  _

It had gone silent then too. He remembers his hands opening and closing and falling to his knees on the townhouse floor.

Fifty years later, he opens his mouth.

“Why, Rhys?”

It was a rasp. He’d been aching for hours. Azriel’s battlefield healing barely keeping them both on their feet. But the hole in his heart eclipsed the physical pain. He barely felt the tears coming down his cheeks as he saw Feyre. 

He’d watched them heal each other. He’d watched Rhys wake her back up. And he’d watched his brother slowly heal from the horrors he’d seen, participated in. He gave them shit, both of them, but he loved them both. They knew it too. Despite the five more centuries of life he’d spent with Rhys that Feyre never knew, never lived with them, he knew she was in more pain than any of them.

His friend’s words echoed in his mind  _ there is no debt to repay. _ But Rhys was wrong. Az knew better than the rest what he’d gone through. He’d told quite a bit of it to them in those couple of days between Amarantha’s death and their High Lord’s return. There was a debt to repay. 

And Cassian remembered Aella. What she’d done for him. 

What she’d made him promise.

_ Take care of him for me would you, Cassian? _ She’d asked him the night before the Rite. He’d only nodded.  _ Rhysand needs you. He cannot shoulder this burden alone. _ Aella had stared at him until he had spoken.  _ I promise. I’ll take care of him for as long as I live _ . The smile that had bloomed on her face had been relief.  _ Then no matter what happens to me, no matter what happens to Phoebe or Blagden, he will be alright.  _

Cassian stared at his brother’s body, at his brother’s mate screaming his name. And guilt bloomed in his chest.

_ I’m sorry, Aella. I failed you today too.  _

Azriel

They had lost.

They had won the battle, the war even, but they had lost that which was most precious.

Their brother.

Their brother who had spent fifty years in hell for them, who had been gifted a mate from the Mother, who had given and given and given not just for his people, but for a better world.

Gone.

The tie with his brother, with his High Lord, was gone. The tie that even Amarantha couldn’t sever.

The others didn’t know the half of it. He had told them enough, told them what to expect, some of what their friend had suffered through. What he’d had to do. Enough that they could help him heal.

But even Rhys didn’t know how much he knew.

Rhys knew that Nuala and Cerridwen were his spies. 

But he didn’t know they’d been reporting to Azriel all through those fifty years. That they’d told him what his High Lord had been up to.

What it truly meant when someone whispered “Amarantha’s whore.”

Azriel knew about this people his High Lord had killed. Had tortured. Had watched die. Azriel knew about the nights when Amarantha would keep Rhys close. Azriel knew about the nights when Nuala found his High Lord in his bedroom, staring at an ash knife that wouldn’t puncture a heart of stone.

Azriel knew things that no one else knew.

And not just about Rhys.

But about Feyre.

He knew what had happened to her in the Spring Court. He knew about Calanmai. He knew about what Tamlin had done to her. 

He knew that Feyre and Rhys deserved centuries together. After all they had suffered, for their families, for the Fae, and for a better world. Those two deserved to be happy. Deserved it.

He watched her. His High Lady, his sister. He heard her screams. Azriel shrugged off Cassian’s arm and half fell down next to her. He tried to pull her away from his brother’s cooling body, but didn’t blame her for shoving him away and snarling in his face. Her eyes said she didn’t even recognize him. She only saw Rhys.

He met Thesan’s eyes, then Mor’s. Thesan put a hand on Rhys’s neck, Mor murmuring to Feyre to calm her. She lunged toward Thesan, falling back on her knees next to her mate. Thesan shook his head, meeting Mor’s eyes, then his own.

Feyre stilled.

“Please,” she said. Tears were in her voice, on her face. She wasn’t even talking to them anymore. Her blue-grey eyes were empty and vacant. It was worse than any time Rhys had brought her to the palace above the Hewn City. Worse than she looked after Mor pulled her out of Tamlin’s house.

His heart ached for her. For Cass. For Mor. For himself.

He knew the answer to Cassian’s question. To the why. It was what had made Rhysand beloved in Velaris. What had made his people follow him. What had drawn Cassian, Azriel, Amren, Morrigan, and Feyre together. 

Rhys, like the Faerie Kings of old, had a servant’s heart. A heart for his people. And a drive to protect them, no matter the cost.

Tarquin

_ It would be easy to love you. And it would be even easier to be your friend. _

Tarquin had spent weeks, months even, turning that statement over in his mind. 

For a while, he thought it another pretty lie. Even after they’d come to Adriata, come to save his city, he thought it a lie.

_ Our dreams are the same _ .

Then the meeting of the High Lords. Rhysand had rendered Tamlin incapable of speech. Showed every one of them the depths of his power. How he could control them all if he so chose. But then when questioned about why he came to help…

_ Isn’t that what friends do? _

The tone in his voice then. It had struck Tarquin then that perhaps.. Just perhaps, Rhysand did wish to be friends. That having all that power had left him quite lonely indeed. 

When he saw Rhys as that male, the male that would drop everything and run to someone’s aid, the male who would rescue a female in distress, the male who would watch his mate love another without a word, the male who would turn himself into a monster to protect his people, Tarquin reevaluated everything. 

And everything, every contradictory thing he’d heard and seen about Rhys fell into place. The person Feyre was supposed to be and the person she was. The people surrounding Rhys at that meeting, his family. 

When Thesan shook his head, he dropped down on his knees next to the female who had become his friend, taking her hands in his. She tried to pull away, but he held them tightly.

“I’m sorry,” he told her, trying to speak everything he couldn’t say aloud into those two words. 

She went limp. Her eyes were vacant in a way he’d never seen and wished he couldn’t. Then her eyes hardened as she looked up at him, snarling. “ _ Bring him back _ .”

Every one of us stared at her, uncomprehendingly.

_ “Bring him back!”  _ Feyre was screaming now. He was starting to understand as she explained to the others. He debated, but only for a moment. Rhysand wasn’t just a protector of all that is good. Rhys is his  _ friend _ . 

Tarquin read in Feyre’s eyes that she would break herself using her power to force them. And he knew - they all knew- that they would do the same for a mate. Even frozen Kallas had melted under the onslaught of this female’s pain. 

His mind flashed to Under the Mountain. When the woman in front of him was still human, dressed in cobwebs and silk, painted in what he now knew were Illyrian battle tattoos. When she hid behind Rhysand as he looked into Amarantha’s face and  _ lied _ . Had protected Tarquin and his people. 

Rallying what was left of his power today, Tarquin stepped forward. Her eyes flashed to him, the barest hint of madness behind her eyes. The insanity of a creature so deeply pained that it would strike at anyone who came close.

“For what he gave, today and for many years before.”

Tamlin

He wants to feel vindicated. He wants to feel pleased. He wants to feel like his revenge was finally complete.

It was, but it was bitter.

Of course, now is when he would remember the kindness Rhys had shown him those centuries ago. When he taught a young High Lord’s heir to fight.

How Rhysand’s reward for his kindness was the death of his sister and mother.

It had been decades since he’d thought of them. Thought of the beautiful Illyrian woman whose eyes hadn’t left his as she was destroyed. Of Rhysand’s eyes in a female’s face, a child’s face. He shoved those memories back in the box in his mind that contained them. And Amarantha. And Feyre’s neck cracking. And his mother, destroyed in her bed.

And Feyre.

He wasn’t stupid, he’d seen that she wasn’t coping after Under the Mountain. But it wasn’t until that night in the study that he’d even begun to suspect it was his fault. Not Amarantha’s. 

His.

But she needed to be protected. After everything she’d been through, she’d deserved to be happy. To never again have to fight for anything. After everything she’d done, after she’d  _ died _ , she refused to relax and allow him to care for her.

Because of Rhysand.

And after the wedding, when he took her away for those weeks, he searched. He searched and Lucian searched and there was  _ nothing _ except Ianthe and her suggestions. 

And then when she was taken away by the Morrigan.

And then when she sent him that  _ letter _ . Who had even written it? She couldn’t write that well, he’d seen her handwriting.. before. 

And then when she’d stayed with Rhysand after Lucian went to rescue her. 

He couldn’t cope. Rhysand had destroyed his family. Rhysand and his damned father had  _ slaughtered _ his mother in her bed. He could rip into minds and do what he willed.

What devilry was he working on Feyre?

He’d done everything,  _ everything _ for her. And then she had the  _ gall _ to announce that he was her mate. Rhysand. Rhysand was her mate. 

But after she’d left his court in shreds around him, he finally believed her.

Of course Rhysand was her mate, they were perfectly matched. Cruel, calculating, and cunning. And apparently incredibly powerful. 

It shattered his heart.

Because despite this, despite his hatred of them both, he still missed her. He missed her fiery spirit, the smiles and laughs he coaxed out of her in those human days. He missed curling up together in her bed, spent, and talking. He missed knowing she was safe in his manor, painting. Many of her paintings were hung in his chambers. 

He watched the other Lords give Rhysand a trickle of power. But simply watched. Finally, she looked at him. There was nothing but pain in her face, in her eyes.

“Please,” her voice broke. He didn’t move.

“Please,” she repeated, sobbing. “I will- I will give you  _ anything _ .” 

In that fraction of a second Tamlin heard the crack her spine made when it shattered. He heard Rhysand shouting her name, again and again. He remembered being on his knees at Amarantha’s feet, begging for the life of the one he loved the most. 

_ Was that who he’d become to them? _

He watched as Feyre repeated the last word twice, then clung to Rhys’s chest. Her ear over his heart. Waiting for a heartbeat that was up to him to start.

He walked behind her, watching the rest of her court flinch. He felt a ripping pain in his chest as he pulled that kernel of power into his hand. She looked up at him, blue-grey eyes swimming with agony.

He dropped that kernel of power on his enemy’s chest.

_ Be happy, Feyre. _

Amren

She was justice. She was vengeance. She was Death.

She had no mercy.

She wasn’t built to.

When that burning grace was freed from that physical prison, she was released. Every feeling. Every bit of love and affection she had for her court. Gone.

But not completely.

She retained just enough of who she’d been to sweep through Hybern’s armies. Hybern only.

It was a relief really. Millennia of life, of watching these creatures. The humans, the fae. And millennia of being locked in that Prison. Finally ended.

Ended for her friends.

She felt her spirit dissipate. She wasn’t designed to stick around after death. There was nothing after death for her kind.

There was a small scrap of her left in the body sinking in the Cauldron, but that’s it. That scrap stayed. It worried for them. It worried that they wouldn’t make it, that the Cauldron would destroy them all. 

For the first time in eons, she begged her Father for a boon.  _ Let her figure it out. Show Feyre what to do. Let her have the help she needs _ . 

Those first millennia had been so empty.  _ She _ had been empty. Those eons serving her Father, fearing the punishment that came with  _ feeling _ but longing for it without even knowing the name of the feeling.

Then came the rip. The rip in her universe, that she’d used and found a formless world. Like the one her Father had created for their humans.

She, and all the other creatures from across universes, across dimensions, waited and watched. They saw the creation of the humans, and the creation of the Fae. She, and all those other creatures, emerged from their dens.

The primitive humans and fae had worshipped them. They had whispered her old name.  _ Ramiel _ . She had been one of the human’s gods. A god not of death, but of justice.

It was a wicked faerie king- the final one- who locked her in the Prison, before the Fae of Prythian had been divided into courts. He knew she was coming for him. That she had blessed his predecessors because of their love for justice. And that she cursed him.

When she finally bound herself into a Fae body and emerged, the world was a vastly different place.

She felt her spirit begin to fall into the darkness. She remembered what Rhys had said to Feyre all those months ago.

_ The darkness that frightens, the darkness that soothes, the darkness that is restful. The darkness of lovers, and the darkness of assassins. _

Part of her wondered what sort of darkness this was.

The rest of her relaxed for the first time in millennia.

Suddenly, she felt an unexpected presence in the darkness with her. Jerking her head up, she saw him. Rhys. Her eyes somehow filled with tears. Rhys was dead with her. He looked at her and smiled peacefully, though tears ran unchecked down his face. 

She opened her mouth to speak, but saw him being pulled back. He looked panicked for a moment, then stretched out a hand. An offering.

She took it.

Rhys

_ Stay stay stay stay STAY _ .

He could hear her voice, her tears. Feel her holding on to those scraps of their mating bond. Feel her holding him as he began to fade into the darkness.

He wished he could have had more time with her. He hoped that Mor and Cass and Az would hold her together. Would help her get through this. 

He wished he could stay. 

Rhys knew how she was feeling. He’d felt it before, Under the Mountain. He still tried not to think about it. He wished Feyre didn’t have to suffer more pain.

But she lived. She  _ lived _ . 

And she would continue to live. 

That was what was most important. He couldn’t save Amren. He couldn’t save his mother. He couldn’t save Phoebe. So many atrocities that he hadn’t prevented, that he could have put his life on the line to stop. This evened the score a bit. Hopefully.

Feyre was strong, she would survive.

Suddenly he heard her speaking again, speaking into the bond. 

And he found that in this place, he could still weep.

She told him what he’d wanted to ask her for months - how she’d fallen in love with him. He felt her pain as she told him. And then she spoke of the future. Of dinner with their family. Of her dream of teaching art to her people - their people. Of nights in Velaris and of formalizing their bond and of the next fifty, one hundred Starfalls.

She wove him into every piece of that future as he felt their bond begin to be reforged. As he began to feel more alive, he felt a presence. He looked behind him. 

It was Amren. She was smiling. 

He reached out his hand as he felt his bond with Feyre begin to pull him back.

She took his hand.

The first thing he felt when he woke up was Feyre’s head on his chest. He opened his eyes.

Part of him catalogued the numbers of faces with tears. The number of people who mourned him. Part of him was humbled by that.

But the rest of him was occupied with Feyre. Her Illyrian armor splattered with mud and gore, her bronze hair escaping from the tight braid it was in down her back. Her whole body was shaking. He could feel every iota of her pain through their bond. And every scrap of painful hope.

So he lifted his hand up and placed it gently on her back, holding her to him. 

Safe. She was safe.


End file.
